


Cracks

by Swiftlet (SphinxTheRiddle)



Series: Cycles of Return [4]
Category: Kingdoms of Amalur
Genre: Enconeg has the patience of a saint, F/M, Slow Burn, Subtle flirting, The Fateless One is emotionally illiterate, two introverted losers slowly circle each other with growing heart eyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23828764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SphinxTheRiddle/pseuds/Swiftlet
Summary: Years from now, he would look back on these interactions as the moments in which their courtship truly began.
Relationships: Fateless One/Enconeg Holn, Female Fateless One/Enconeg Holn
Series: Cycles of Return [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1716907
Kudos: 4





	Cracks

The first time she converses with him follows too closely on the tails of that early morning glimpse at nakedness.

Her stay in the Mere had been longer than usual, and her mood more spontaneous. More than once in the days following her arrival, he’d awoken to splashes in the morning, padded footsteps along the docks at night. She seemed to all but embody the land and the water around her, and he could see her impression in every byway.

But for all the signs in front of him, he did not expect her to approach.

Upon a single clear morning, she cornered him as he mended fishing nets. He had been close enough to the jump point to mistake her footsteps for another watery excursion. Instead, silence fell with no splash to follow; and when he turned in wary curiosity, she was there.

“Enconeg,” she greeted, her eyes bright.

And though he bore more gray hairs than she did years, though he’d been married to his Imelda longer than she had been alive, the best response Enconeg’s brain could muster was an abrupt, “Aye.”

The answer seemed to amuse the feral-eyed woman, her quiet chuckles sounding like drumbeats against his ears. She’d a surprisingly soft voice, low timbre’d in the peace of the morning, reminding Enconeg of purring barghests. It was a voice made for secluded conversations in the lowlight of a tavern, for two people and mugs of mulled mead beside the hearth. For— _For discretion_ , he reminded himself quickly. This one had all the bearing of a commander, yes, but also a spymaster. And he’d seen her cleaning the blood off of her chakrams before; Enconeg was no fool.

Yet that age-earned insight was not enough to entirely off-put him. He was drawn to this glow-eyed woman, no matter how his instincts warned of danger in her every move. Some part of his mind likened the magnetism to the draw of a leanashe, equal parts desire and magick. Enconeg would have none of that.

He’d been a pirate in his youth. Just because one could not see the shoals did not mean they didn’t exist—prevention of sinking was paramount.

And yet…he was an old man. What did he have to lose if he crashed headlong into this indefinable _something_ growing between them?

A quiet hum brought Enconeg back to the present moment. He met the woman’s gaze, noting that her eyes had lost their mischievous glow. Angling her head, she stared somewhere over his head, as if unable to meet his eyes.

“It occurs to me that I have not thanked you for your hospitality,” she said.

‘Twas an unexpected turn in topic, and Enconeg blinked it away. “No thanks were needed, Wanderer. After what you’ve done for me…”

“You mean the leanashe.” At his nod, she turned her eyes back to his face, the corners of her mouth pulling down. “Enconeg, I did not save you. I killed a monster for the promise of coin. ‘Tis not the same, and unworthy of your gratitude.”

Though the claim was somewhat pricking, it was not unexpected. In those first encounters, she’d seemed an aloof woman despite the magnetism. Quiet, cold, calculative—those were the words that’d first come to mind when she had dispelled the leanashe’s enthrallment. He had been embarrassed at the time, his pride wounded by his own foolishness, his confrontation with loneliness. He had all but snapped at her to hunt the blighted creature which had bewitched him, promising a reward if she could manage to return the ring the creature had kept from him.

She’d not failed the assignment. The unholy wailing of the leanashe had gurgled and ended as quickly as it had begun, and the wanderer had returned with his wedding ring, striding along the docks as if she owned the place.

And yet…

“Perhaps, Wanderer. But didn’t you also hunt the Ettin and return my Imelda’s grave charm to me?”

That remembrance struck her, though one would not have realized unless they’d been in her company long enough. All movement, even breathing, ceased for the barest second as she slowly blinked recognition. Then the glow was back in those yellow-green irises of hers, the expression intense as she eyed him. Yes, she _had_ gone out of her way to help the fisherman. Without the promise of payment. For something of more personal significance than mere dispelling and hunting. She felt her hands curl into fists as she folded her arms behind her back, caught.

Another crack in the surface, Enconeg would remember years later. A burgeoning attachment.

Sensing her discomfort, the graying fisherman sighed theatrically and turned back to his nets. “Well, the fish won’t catch themselves, I suppose.”

He felt the slow touch of her gaze upon his back as he feigned total interest in his work. Caught a soft, near inaudible release of her breath as her footsteps padded past him towards the jump point behind the shack. He caught her eyes from his peripheral, stilling at the measured stare.

“You may call me Dryden, Enconeg.”

And then she was gone, leaping into the lake.


End file.
